


Familiarity

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: Gen, Torna: The Golden Country DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 01:50:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19802266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Mythra supposes she can sort of understand, even if Mòrag is Mòrag and Mythra is Mythra.





	Familiarity

**Author's Note:**

> their h2h on the cliffs of morytha (the one where mythra tells mòrag to stop being dumb and just hang out with niall as sister and brother) had me thinking about mythra and milton and how that might have influenced the advice mythra gave to mòrag

She hears them before she rounds the corner— they’re talking. Mythra pauses and, against her own better judgment, steps close enough to hear but not close enough to be noticed. Mòrag did mention she would be spending the better part of the afternoon with the Emperor. With her brother. While Pyra had been more than happy to simply hear the news, Mythra was just a little curious to know how exactly they’d be passing the time.

“I had a good time.”

“As did I.”

Oh, blazes, it’s like they’re reading off a script. But… the effort is there, and Mythra stops herself from barging out to tell Mòrag and Niall to talk like human beings. Mòrag actually took her advice and that’s what counts. People could be so infuriatingly dense at times; not dense enough to listen to reason, gratefully, as Mythra actually _gets_ now.

In the end, it was probably just a couple hours of idle chatter over drinks, but the Emperor has his duties to tend to as does the Special Inquisitor. An hour taken from their days is tantamount to a damn holiday, from what Mythra understands.

How annoying.

“For you, Your Majesty.”

“A gift?”

Mythra raises a brow.

“Socks. I picked them out during our last stop in Torigoth.”

And she’s barely able to suppress a sigh, though her eyes do roll hard.

“Thank you, Mòrag. I’ll be sure to treasure it.”

What’s the matter with those two?

Pyra giggles in the back of her thoughts.

She listens to them exchange stiff but sincere goodbyes. Maybe Mòrag really wasn’t kidding when she said they haven’t acted as normal siblings in a long time, as if there was any possibility of her ever cracking a joke. Mythra stays where she is, back against the wall, as Mòrag almost walks right past her, and relishes the look of flustered surprise that crosses her face for a split second.

“—Mythra?”

_”Socks?_ Are you serious?”

“His Majesty appreciates more practical gifts. He was never particularly fond of trinkets and baubles, even as a child,” she says, without missing a beat.

Mythra’s shoulders relax, somewhat. “Oh. Yeah, I guess you’d know what he’d like better than anyone else.”

Mòrag ducks her head, maybe to hide that twitch of a smile that failed to escape Mythra’s attention. They walk down the empty corridor together; the waning sunlight burns bright through the skylights, leaving the palace uncomfortably warm. She has half a mind to complain about it, but that'd probably prompt Mòrag to launch into a spiel about the Titan's withering.

“So. Tell me about it,” Mythra says, and she dares to nudge Mòrag with her elbow. “It was fun, wasn’t it? That is, assuming you listened to me and put down that Special Inquisitor act for once.”

“We didn’t have much to discuss, in the end.” Mòrag considers this for a moment. “But, yes, it was fun.”

There’s more she could ask, and wants to ask, but she figures it’s better to leave it there. Maybe Mòrag isn’t quite as hopeless as Mythra had initially assumed. Then again, as Pyra would point out, Mythra assumes most people are hopeless in one way or another. She watches Mòrag’s expression from the corner of her eyes, half thinking about how damn warm it is and half thinking about what someone like Mòrag would even consider to be _fun._

Spending time with loved ones. Talking about everything and nothing. Drinking tepid tea. Maybe.

She knows even less about Niall, and Mythra can’t say she has more faith in him. But he's related to Mòrag, so that counts for something.

“I did want to thank you, however,” Mòrag says, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over them. “For the advice you’d given me. Admittedly, letting down our usual formalities was… difficult, at first, but it was just as you said. Speaking to one another as siblings was more than refreshing. I fear we’d both been neglecting that familial tie for too long.”

“Don’t mention it. I always know what I’m talking about.”

“Even Brighid had never offered such wisdom to me before,” she says with a slanted smile.

“Well, duh. Brighid doesn’t have that same experience as I do.” Mythra brushes back her hair, a bit too nonchalant for her usual fare, and Mòrag stops walking.

“… Mythra?”

No. She doesn’t want to talk about it.

Her own experience with that boy that could have been like a brother is for no one but herself and Pyra to know about. She didn’t even get to— there were a lot of things she didn’t get to say—

_Things she should have said._

She stops walking as well, to look over her shoulder at Mòrag.

Mòrag is absolutely awful at opening herself up to show her actual human side that isn’t completely glazed over by duty and appearances. That she struggled to even figure out how to talk to her own brother is proof enough. Mythra supposes she can sort of understand, even if Mòrag is Mòrag and Mythra is Mythra.

They’re very different people, is all.

Mythra places her fists against her hips. “What?”

“… It’s nothing.”

“That’s what I thought.”

She waits for Mòrag to catch up to her and they continue walking together, a silence falling over them once more. But then Mòrag places a hand on her shoulder, and Mythra wants to _glare_ , but she instead sighs hard and tries to think about anything else, maybe about how warm the palace is. Pyra is quiet.

“Allow me to return the favor, someday," Mòrag softly says.

If anyone would understand, maybe it would be her? Mythra doesn’t shrug her hand off.

“Sure. I’ll tell you about it some other time.”


End file.
